The Afterlife
by thespian geek
Summary: [Wicked book-verse] "And of the Witch? In the life of a Witch, there is no after, in the ever after of a Witch, there is no happily; in the story of a Witch, there is no afterword." (Wicked, pg. 406) Or is there? Things aren't always what they seem.
1. Chapter 1

So this was the sweet taste of freedom. This was what it felt like to not have a care in the world, to have nothing holding you back. The pain had been minimal, non-existent almost. But the image of familiar faces flashing before her eyes (how cliché but so true) was burned forever into her mind, especially that of her lover long ago.

One thing that always had frightened her was not having control over a situation, and what was happening was one of the scariest things. Wind rushed past her face, the landscape of Oz a blur as she traveled through the air. Where was she going? A mere minute ago she'd been in the tower at Kiamo Ko, staring down the wide-eyed Dorothy. Now she was flying through the night sky toward a destination unknown.

"What the hell?" she murmured to herself, though her words had either gotten lost in the wind or hadn't come out at all for she couldn't hear them.

Within moments the Witch found herself soaring over the countryside of Munchkinland. A house came into view, a house she recognized. Her feet found the paled yellow bricks that trailed just off the edge of the property, and her hand came to scratch at her pointy chin, confusion quite apparent on her face, wondering where she was. As if something had read her mind, a small man appeared with grey, spiked hair and a barreled chest.

"Boq," stated the Witch. "Boq!"

The man did not turn at her calls, but continued on his way toward a shed that sat at the side of the house. He had plants that needed to be tended to, even though they were barely alive due to the rocky ground and lack of water.

"Damnit, you fool. Answer me! Boq! Do you not hear me?"

The Witch glared in the direction of the man before shuffling off in his direction, her temper flaring.

"Answer me!"

Again, Boq did not turn or even act as though he'd heard a word she said. He gathered his plow and fertilizer and dragged both items off to his sickly looking cornstalks. The Witch fumed with anger and made to kick a bucket over, but missed the item entirely and had to grab onto a tree branch to catch her balance. Anything that even resembled a sport had never been her forte.

She gathered up her skirts and flopped down on a hard patch of ground, watching the munchkin work. Minutes seemed to tick away without another sound, and the heat of the day was beginning to bother the Witch. Just when she'd decided it was time to leave (Boq obviously wasn't going to give her any attention), the back door swung open and out came Milla with a baby attached to her hip.

"Boq," Milla called.

Boq looked up in surprise and dropped his plow, quickly wiping the dirt from his hands. The Witch scowled that Boq had heard Milla but not herself.

"If you're going to hear her, you could at least acknowledge my presence!"

Neither of them turned. Milla walked over to her husband, her face a little fallen. Something was wrong. She pulled a folded up piece of paper from her apron pocket and handed it to Boq before turning to head back inside.

Boq watched his wife leave before looking down to the paper. It was obvious he was uneasy about opening it – Milla had given him no warning as to what it was about. Carefully he pried the folds apart and began reading. The note was short, but it got its point across, and in the process his face had fallen just as his wife's had.

"Elphie," Boq muttered under his breath.

"Oh, so _now_ you'll talk to me?" the Witch asked.

But just as before, Boq hadn't answered her. She pushed off to stand behind him, giving him the worst glare she could muster before her eyes had caught sight of the words on the paper.

_Dear Master Boq,_

_I regret to inform you that Elphaba has passed away. I don't expect many to show, but there will be a small memorial service at Colwen Grounds in three days. Your presence would be welcomed, but is not required._

_Sincerely,_

_Glinda_

Boq folded up the paper and shoved it into his back pocket before turning to head inside just as his wife had. Elphaba stood there, almost stunned but not quite. Everything that had happened in between her skirt catching fire and the wind on her face as she flew over the Vinkus came rushing back at her.

So this was death.


	2. Chapter 2

The world around her blurred and she found herself in the air once more. Was this to be a sick torture? Was this hell? To see her friends of long ago but yet never be able to interact with them again? To haunt them? That couldn't happen – she didn't have a soul. Only those with souls could _haunt_ people.

Shortly after leaving Boq's home, Elphaba found herself floating down to the remainders of Colwen Grounds. It had been destroyed and defaced even further since Nessarose's memorial service. Her father, Frex, was sitting on a bench that looked out in the weed-filled garden.

His body sat straight and tall, though it still looked broken. His hair was pulled back away from his face and his beard was long, and the emotion that came through almost shattered the Witch's heart.

"Fabala," she heard him whisper. His voice cracked and he closed his eyes, tears building and spilling over to roll down his cheeks slowly.

The Witch walked quietly over to the bench and sat down beside him, though she knew now that he would not be able to see or hear her. She swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat and turned her head toward him, reaching up to wipe away his tears but found she was unable to touch him. An ache grew in the pit of her stomach that she couldn't rid of.

"Papa, I'm here." Elphaba wanted to touch him, to comfort him and let him know that she was safe now, but that wasn't possible. She sighed to herself and closed her eyes, leaning back against the side of the house.

They both sat there in silence, Frex's shoulders shaking as he cried quietly. The Witch couldn't imagine the pain he was feeling now – to lose both daughters within such a short amount of time, and both thanks to that little brat Dorothy. In fact, Elphaba was quite surprised to find Frex still alive. She'd sworn Nessa's memorial service was going to be the last time she saw him – and technically she had been correct. But it had been her to go first.

Finally, as the sun had begun to set, Frex stood and wiped his eyes. He was a fragile looking man and Elphaba had no doubt he would be gone as well by the end of the week. The man headed indoors and the Witch followed him, watching his every move. He walked, shuffled even, into his bedroom and pulled open a drawer from his dresser. A book of some sort was clutched in his hand, and he opened it, eyeing something. Elphaba walked toward him and stood at his side, her head tilted just enough to see the drawing from the correct angle.

It was a beautiful sketching of herself playing with a little glass ball. She couldn't have been more than two, her dark hair falling in curls around her bony cheeks, her dark eyes intent on the object in her hands. Elphaba bit her lip and glanced up at her father, and was somewhat surprised to see him smiling, though it was a sad smile.

"I hope you're at peace now, Fabala."

Frex's fingers brushed along the edge of her sketched face and it smudged faintly. He winced and closed the book, placing it back in the dresser and closing the drawer. Elphaba stared at him as he turned and moved toward the bed.

"I am," she whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

As if she could have guessed that their time was over, her surroundings blurred and she found herself in the air once more. It didn't take long for her to reach her next destination, though the territory was definitely unfamiliar. She had never been here before, but she had a feeling she knew who she would find.

By now the sun had fully set and it was dark. Elphaba tilted her head upward toward the night sky and frowned a little at the incredible lack of stars. Too many bright lights. She found footing outside of a relatively large house, which did not surprise her in the least, and walked up to the front gate. The names on the post box confirmed her suspicions.

_Sir Chuffrey and Lady Glinda_

She kicked at a small stone in front of her foot before walking up to the front door. Just as though she were on cue, Glinda opened the door to let out a grey and white patched cat. Elphaba slipped herself inside just as the door was closing and looked at her old friend. It was plainly obvious that the blonde had been crying – her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks looked raw, but still she tried to cover it with caked on makeup and a smile.

Elphaba followed Glinda (who was shockingly underdressed – a pink silk floor-length nightgown, a flowy robe and pink slippers) through the mansion. She eyed decorative items as they passed them, an expensive looking painting here and there along the walls, some sort of statue in the corner, etcetera. Her journey led her up a flight of marble stairs and to a door on the left. Glinda entered first with Elphaba on her tail, and nearly gagged when she saw the sight of the bedroom. It reminded her too much of the other witch's decorative ways back at Shiz. Frills, lace and lots of pastels. How did Sir Chuffrey handle this?

It took a moment for Elphaba to get over the looks of the room, and her attention fell on the blonde once more who was walking over to the window. Glinda struck a match and protected the flame with her hand as she lit a white candle, just as she had done for the past three evenings.

Glinda watched the flame dim and then grow higher, burning brightly, a sad look in her eyes. She couldn't get over the feeling she'd gotten three evenings prior, the one that had caused her to light the candle in the first place. A gut instinct that had come out of no where. The following morning she received news of Elphaba's death and the Wizard's departure, both within a half hour of each other. Oz was completely 'wicked witch' and leader free now.

The pain was unbearable, especially knowing she and Elphie had departed on bad terms. Damn those shoes. Glinda hunched over and put her face in her hand, a sob cracking through the air like some sort of whip. The other Witch stood there, watching her old friend cry, feeling absolutely helpless. There was nothing Elphaba could do. She was a ghost of some sort, a spirit. She couldn't talk to anyone, she couldn't touch anyone, and she couldn't show herself to anyone. All she could do was watch. Watch their pain and suffering. But why were they suffering over her of all people? None of them had ever seemed to care that much before, why now?

Elphaba walked over and sat on the edge of Glinda's bed, her hands folding neatly in her lap, the sounds of the other woman's crying in her ear. If they had cared so much, why didn't they show it when she had been alive? Or maybe they had tried to show it, but in their own ways, and Elphaba had never been one to show emotion or even let it in.

She lifted her gaze to look at the blonde who was sniffling and wiping her face before murmuring a quick prayer to the Unnamed God. Elphaba couldn't help rolling her eyes.

Glinda turned and walked over to the bed, which caused Elphaba to stand quickly and back away toward the door. The blonde's head was turned toward the window, her eyes giving an odd sparkle from the candlelight and tears.

"I miss you, Elphie."

She continued staring at the candle before settling down under the covers, leaving the other side of the bed empty for her husband, whenever he came home.

Elphaba stood near the door and watched Glinda drift off into an uneasy sleep, a frown firmly planted on her lips. Why did whatever was doing this to her _insist_ on doing it? Had she really deserved to be tortured in death because being tortured in life hadn't been enough?

Her head turned toward the window and she gazed at the candle, the fire burning brighter than ever. Elphaba huffed and walked over to it, crouching down to gaze intently into the flame.

"Let me go," she murmured to the burning candle. "Let me be already. I deserve a peaceful death!"

She reached out to take the candle, to throw it out the window, but something grabbed her wrist. She struggled against the invincible hold and groaned, the flame growing brighter, the light nearly blinding her.

"Stop! Let me go!"

"I will not," came an unfamiliar voice.

Elphaba used her free hand and struck out into the light, a wave of shock running through her as she hit something solid. Something she had not intended to be there.


	4. Chapter 4

The grip on her wrist tightened as the shock of hitting flesh and muscle slowly disappeared. Her body wriggled this way and that as she tried to escape from the hold, but it was too tight, and Elphaba was certain she'd have bruises later (if dead people bruised).

"Sto--!"

Her cry was cut short as a hand slipped over her mouth, the taste of bitter skin nearly making her gag. _If I'm not already dead, I will be in a moment's time_, she thought to herself.

"Do you want us to be caught?" asked the other voice in a harsh whisper.

This time, though, the voice was not so unfamiliar. Not as it had been before. Elphaba's eyes flew open and she stared into the darkness. The only thing she could see was the broken sun-roof above her head, a small scattering of stars across what little bit of sky appeared through the broken panes.

Where was she? A sudden panic washed over her and she gave another muffled cry, her back arching. She needed to get out of here, wherever 'here' was. She needed to get away from whoever was holding her captive.

"Fae, stop! Calm down!"

It took a few long seconds for the other's words to register in her mind. Fae? Her gaze dropped onto a shadowed figure to her side. The hand over her mouth slipped away and she bit her lower lip, watching the person. She knew who it was, but it couldn't be. It just wasn't possible. Of course, it wasn't possible for her to be laying there in the darkness of her old flat, either.

After her breathing had calmed and it was obvious she wasn't going to attack, the grip on her wrist loosened and finally disappeared. She flinched and quickly covered her body under the blanket as the other person struck a match to light a nearby candle. Elphaba looked up and felt her heart nearly stop as the other's half-shadowed face came into view. The man was dark-skinned, with long brown hair, large dark brown eyes and a pattern of blue diamond tattoos trailing from his temple down over his jaw and disappearing into the shadow on his neck. She gasped.

"But... you're..."

Elphaba sat up and reached a hand out hesitantly, finally bringing it to cup his face after having an inner-battle with herself. He was real all right, and warm – alive. A shiver ran up and down her spine as one of his hands rose to cover her own hand, their fingers lacing together slowly.

"I'm here, Fae," he whispered before turning his head to kiss the inside of her palm.

She nearly gave an outward cry of joy, but caught herself and instead lunged forward to wrap her arms around his neck, her mouth catching his in a hungry kiss. It lingered for a few wonderful moments before she pulled back to look at his beautiful face. She let the tip of her index finger lightly trace the diamonds on his face.

"So this isn't death?" she asked quietly.

"No," he replied. "You were having a nightmare."

Elphaba paused, her eyebrows furrowing together slowly. "A nightmare?"

Her lover nodded and watched her with concern. "You woke me not too long ago, thrashing about like some wild animal, saying you deserved a peaceful death. I didn't really know what to do, as I've never seen you have a nightmare before. But then you started yelling and I had to stop you before someone heard."

Fiyero lifted the wrist he had been grabbing onto and placed it against his lips, giving it a tender kiss. "My apologies if I hurt you."

Elphaba waved it off as though it weren't a big deal (though her wrist was tender and sore) and glanced away, thinking. Nothing was making sense. She sat quietly for a good ten minutes as Fiyero watched her. Finally she returned her eyes to his face and frowned.

"What?" he asked.

"It just... it doesn't make sense," she answered. "Everything was so vivid, so real."

"Will you tell me about it tomorrow?" Fiyero leaned in and brushed his lips over her cheek gently. She wanted to tell him about it now, but something else was beginning to take over her mind. That dream – or nightmare – had made it feel like an eternity since they'd made love and she wanted him to know just how much she cared and how much she would miss him if he ever did leave her.

"I love you."

"And I love you."

Though Elphaba was never one to really express her emotions, this moment was an exception.


End file.
